Invitation to a Theft
by DezoPenguin
Summary: A young heiress, a priceless necklace, and a threat from a notorious thief: advocate Jack Lyeth has his work cut out for him. But in a world of magic, there's more to a break-in than just the pursuit of money.


"Have a seat, Jack," Marcel Bordeaux said, waving to one of the leather-upholstered chairs. The senior partner of Bordeaux, Lyeth, and Meade, Advocates at Law, was in a genial mood, and Jack took advantage by dropping into the seat.

"Don't mind if I do. Those bankers are deuced fussy fellows."

"Well, we must make allowances. Illyrian trade is much more cutthroat than ours, only to be expected when half the League states don't even have a proper monarch to keep a firm hand on matters. Only stands to reason their banking houses would be too tightly-wound against any underhanded business." Bordeaux paused, his bushy brows drawing together as his gaze sharpened. "You _did_ get it, didn't you, Jack?"

"Of course. It took some doing—the resident gnomes went over every scrap of paper, and I swear they'd have tested the seals with a hot knife if they'd figured a way to do it without ruining the documents—but we are, after all, the duly appointed legal representatives of the estate, and they had to give in at last."

He reached into his coat and took out the polished leather jewel-case. At the sight, Bordeaux's face relaxed, slipping back into the genial expression he so often used with clients. Balding but with a full white beard and rosy cheeks, his body showing the effects of over fifty years' indulgence in the best of food and wine alike, he hid one of the capital's sharpest legal minds behind the façade of a roguish uncle. It was a pose that served him well with clients who expected an advocate to be a wizened little man, uptight and with one eye always on the cash-box.

Having all but grown up in the firm—his late father was the Lyeth in the partnership's name—Jack knew all too well that the pose _was_ a pose. Bordeaux rarely was anything like "genial" once the office doors had shut out the public. The Marcillac estate, though, carried the kind of fees needed to bring out genuine good humor.

"Let's have them, then."

Jack handed over the case at once. Bordeaux snapped it open, and the younger man craned his head forward to take a look.

"Those are the Marcillac diamonds? They don't make a pretty picture."

Bordeaux shrugged.

"Well, you could hardly expect anything else. The man was a complete _parvenu_ , after all. Holdings in Illyrian trade, then mining and textiles. You could hardly expect elegance."

Jack supposed it stood to reason that Bordeaux was no less a snob than his own father had been. Bordeaux, Lyeth, and Meade was an elite firm, their clients including some of the highest in the land. A mere tradesman, no matter how successful, could never compare.

Of course, that disdain did not extend to the late Marcillac's _money_. Gold royals, it seemed, carried their own nobility no matter from whose hands they passed.

The garishly overdone double row of diamonds seemed to wink up at Jack as the thought crossed his mind. A trick of reflected lamplight, of course, but the sentiment was all too appropriate under the circumstances. The Marcillac diamonds were precious, yet devoid of artistic value. The stones were massive, and several were noticeably inferior to others, no doubt included for the sake of their sheer size. The flourishes and curlicues of the gold setting were positively baroque.

He didn't like it at all. The necklace seemed like a testament to human greed, not only to mere avarice but in a pride taken in that lust for wealth's results. There was no attempt to make a thing of beauty here, just a coarse display of monetary value.

Jack found himself slightly relieved when Bordeaux closed the case, the soft pop of the edges snapping shut like a seal being put into place.

There was a soft knock on the door, and a clerk entered to say that Miss Louise Marcillac had arrived.

Bordeaux glanced at the case-clock on one of the shelves.

"Right on time. The gel has manners, at the least. Show her in."

After a moment's delay, the door opened again to admit a young woman in mourning black. Honey-blonde hair framed a round, pixie face. She wore spectacles with tinted lenses, an unusual choice, but when she passed Jack on the way to her chair, he caught a glimpse that behind them her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. This, too, explained the face-powder on her cheeks, doubtless restoring the ravages of sorrow.

"Please, be seated," he invited, holding the seat for her. She raised her downcast gaze to look at him.

"Thank you," she said softly. "You are very courteous."

The shape of her face, her mouth, suggested that Miss Marcillac would show to best advantage in a happy mood, impish and teasing. Quiet and restrained as she was, the life seemed to have been drained from her, and the young advocate's heart went out to her in sympathy.

Bordeaux, of course, was in his element.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, Miss Marcillac. I can only regret that it is under such trying circumstances. Your father was one of our most valued clients, and I worked closely with him for many years. Often he told me how proud he was of you and what a fine young lady you were growing into."

"Th-thank you, Mr. Bordeaux. Papa spoke often of your keen acumen and the many services you rendered him."

She glanced up at Jack again.

"This is young Mr. Lyeth," Bordeaux said, "one of my junior partners and following in his own father's footsteps in our firm. He has been assisting me with the estate matters."

"I'm glad to meet you as well, Mr. Lyeth."

"And I you, Miss Marcillac."

She turned back to Bordeaux, and her hands tightened on her reticule as if she were setting herself to a task.

"I hate to seem encroaching, Mr. Bordeaux, but there are business matters…"

"We have your necklace right here." He patted the case with one fleshy hand. "Mr. Lyeth retrieved it from the bank less than an hour past."

She shivered, just a tiny movement but a tangible one nonetheless.

"Thank you. I am not used to dealing with bankers and men of law. Indeed, Papa never brought me to the capital before; he did not consider it to be a fit place for a young lady." Her gaze dropped, leaving her emotions ambiguous. Jack wondered if she meant to criticize her father for denying her the opportunity, or if she had doubts about her own status as a "lady" owing to her family background, or if it was simply that she missed her father and more keenly felt his absence now that circumstances had forced her to be here.

"May…may I see the necklace?"

"Of course." Bordeaux passed the case across the desk to her. She fumbled a bit with the catch, but got it open.

"Oh!" She shivered, then shut the case. "I don't see what the fuss is; they're horrid."

"The Marcillac diamonds are very valuable," Bordeaux allowed.

"But so gaudy. I'd just as soon they…" She gave a little sigh. "It isn't Papa or Mama's fault," she said. "They didn't have the advantages of any tutoring in art or culture." Her eyes blazed behind their spectacles as she added defiantly, "That was why they sent me to Miss Emberley's seminary. They wanted to be sure that I would have everything that they'd lacked in their own lives." Her gaze traveled from Bordeaux to Jack and back again, meeting each man's eyes in turn.

 _No doubt she was afraid we would take her first, careless words as an insult,_ Jack thought. Despite sharing some of Bordeaux's attitudes towards those who wielded money without manners, he could not help but feel there was a difference between those who heedlessly blundered on and those who recognized their own lack.

Miss Marcillac's head drooped again, as if she was embarrassed at her outburst. She opened the jewel-case once more, the shut it again even more swiftly than the first time.

There was something to that; Jack was sure of it. Not just the appearance of the stones or her family feelings, but something more.

"What is wrong, Miss Marcillac?" he asked. "I do not mean to pry, but it is plain that something troubles you."

She looked up at him, trembling slightly, before her posture stiffened as she came to some resolve. She reached into her reticule and took out a folded piece of paper.

"You are right, Mr. Lyeth. I am frightened, and had no idea where to turn. I am sure that you and Mr. Bordeaux can advise me of the right course."

"Indeed, to advise you is our duty as your advocates," Bordeaux said. "Tell us all that worries you, and we shall do our best to set it right."

Miss Marcillac gave a quick little nod.

"When I arrived in the capital yesterday, I found this waiting for me in the post. I am staying at my uncle's townhouse, and it had just been delivered that day, as if the sender knew when I would arrive."

She handed Jack the folded paper, which he recognized as good-quality stationery, the kind a lady would use for her correspondence. He opened it and read the message aloud.

"'My dear Miss Marcillac. Please accept my condolences on the death of your father. However, I am afraid that I must add to your loss by taking something more of value from you. I am sure that you can understand that such an item as the Marcillac diamonds does not become available at just any time. Out of consideration for your feelings, however, I offer a compromise. I shall attempt to take the diamonds during the morning hours of the fifteenth. Should I fail, you may consider the Marcillac diamonds to be forever safe from me. But of course, I shall not fail.' The note is signed—"

"The Tigress," Bordeaux finished for him.

"Quite right, sir."

"But how did you know? Who is the Tigress?"

It was Bordeaux who gave the explanation.

"She is a thief, who has become quite infamous over the last two years. Her brazen arrogance leads her to taunt her prey with those messages in advance of each crime. I have no doubt she means every word of that note, since that same pride seemingly won't let her break her word, at least so far as her reputation in the public press claims."

"Tomorrow is the fifteenth," Jack said.

"Them she will try to rob me tomorrow morning?"

Bordeaux shook his head.

"You need to remember that you are dealing with a thief, who will happily use the literal truth to deceive. She says, 'during the morning hours.' Undoubtedly the attempt will come tonight, after midnight, when the new day technically begins."

"Oh, of course," Miss Marcillac said, looking slightly embarrassed for having missed the point. Her innocence charmed Jack, but the senior partner remained focused on the facts.

"I can see why this threat would be disconcerting, Miss Marcillac, but I must ask, why did you not contact the Watch at once? This is not Albion, where they cling to the notion that an organized police is a tool of oppression. A valuable necklace, a threat of a theft, the next step would be obvious."

"Well, that is…"

She squirmed in her seat.

Bordeaux turned on his "fond uncle" manner to its highest degree.

"Come, come, miss. Why not confide all in us? We are men of law here. We understand that our clients have needs which do not always conform to facile expectations." He tapped the side of his nose. "You brought this note to us, after all."

"It is my uncle. You know that he is my guardian. He is a good man, but quite stern. He will be arriving tomorrow, quite early, to conclude a matter of business and send me back to the country, and will be most put out by any delays. To become involved in a police case would interfere with that. And he needs the necklace in-hand as security tomorrow."

"What? He would use your heirloom jewelry in managing your affairs?" Jack's chivalrous instincts flared. "When there are so many investments and joint-stock holdings?"

"He says that those things should be preserved to produce income, while the diamonds are nothing but money in another form, an extravagant waste. But—oh! You must not think that the necklace is of any _sentimental_ value to me. Yes, Papa promised that the diamonds would be mine one day, but that was when I was only a little girl. Having seen the necklace now, were it up to me I should sell it at once. It…it disturbs me, somehow. Only look how I had not even possessed them in hand before they brought criminal threats to my life."

"We understand completely; have no worries."

"Thank you, Mr. Bordeaux."

"But I see your concern. You must have the necklace in hand tomorrow morning for your uncle. There can be no question of delay. Thus, no police. But more than that, the necklace cannot be returned to the bank, where it would be secure in the vault behind physical and magical wards."

Miss Marcillac hung her head. Her shoulders were hunched, too, as if she felt weighed down by her burdens.

"Yes," she whispered, then hugged herself. "And this thief…I'm so scared…The way she knew when I would be coming to town, that I would be retrieving the necklace. I feel like I'm being stalked by some terrible shadow. Even her name, 'the Tigress,' shows that."

Jack glanced over her head at the senior partner, and Bordeaux met his gaze, then nodded slowly. The girl, scared as she was, had a good point. The Tigress clearly had access to information inside Miss Marcillac's household to be aware of her movements. She would be prepared for tonight, without question. More likely than not, the Tigress was aware that her quarry could not seek the Watch's help.

"You must have a guard," Bordeaux said. "Anything else would be all but giving the Tigress an invitation to take the diamonds. I don't suppose that your uncle maintains a full staff of servants when he is not in Town?"

She shook her head.

"Only the butler, the housekeeper, and the cook." A tiny smile found her lips, and she added with a trace of humor Jack could not help but find brave, "No stout footmen, I am afraid."

"Just three, then."

"And my own lady's-maid."

"I see." He shook his head, then suddenly brightened. "Well, then, what of Jack, here?"

"Me?"

"Absolutely. You are a respectable gentleman, not some low hired ruffian who could not be trusted in a young lady's home. As a man of law representing a client, moreover, you have an ongoing relationship with the Marcillac family, and could not be bribed by the Tigress for pocket-money the way she might try with a servant or guard."

"But, the danger…I could not ask…"

"Do not worry, Miss Marcillac," Jack said at once. "I will not shirk my duty." Belatedly, a thought struck him. "Would there be an adequate chaperone? I would not want to impair your reputation."

"There is my maid, and if need be the housekeeper. Besides, who could think evil of you while you were sitting up all night keeping watch?"

Her eyes were wide and innocent, and Jack could not bring himself to point out that the evil-minded tongues of gossips twisted everything with their own corruption. Besides which, the real risk was to her life and property.

"Then it will be my very great honor to assist you."

She smiled at him, and while it did not make her face beautiful, it nevertheless warmed him to see the trust she placed in him.

"Thank you so very much. I feel much more relieved, now."

"Then you may expect me this evening."

She offered her hand, and Jack assisted her to rise. Miss Marcillac made her farewells, and he showed her out. When he returned to the senior partner's office, Bordeaux had lost all trace of the genial façade. His eyes were intent as he stared at nothing but his own thoughts, and he stroked his beard with rhythmic gestures of his left hand.

"I don't like this," he murmured after a few seconds passed.

"Sir?"

Bordeaux shook his head slowly, ponderously, as if weighed down by the workings of his mind.

"No, I do not like this at all."

He let his hand fall and looked up at Jack.

"The thief has planned this out with great care. We may take it as a given that the Tigress is aware of the owners of most of the famous jewels of Charente. She reads of Marcillac's death; the riding accident was all over the broadsheets. It taken no great ingenuity to deduce that a young heiress would want possession of her jewels rather than to leave them in a bank vault. The matter of the uncle's business dealings would only be a supplemental factor. But her precise knowledge of the timing, that spoke of inside knowledge. Be it from espionage or bribery, it means that you can expect the Tigress to have complete understanding of the house and its occupants."

He drummed his fingers on the desk.

"This game she plays, the flamboyant name, the note written in an educated hand, the fanciful turn of phrase, they're all so much smoke in our eyes."

"I don't understand," Jack admitted. "What do you mean?"

Bordeaux held up the note.

"This sounds like the game of a bored young noblewoman, doesn't it? A dashing challenge, done for the thrill of the thing? But what do we see under the surface? Meticulous planning and preparation long before this note was ever written, all with the design of acquiring an immensely valuable necklace."

 _And you would know, wouldn't you?_ Jack thought. He didn't mean it as a criticism, just that the manner Bordeaux affected with clients was similar to the Tigress's antics: a public façade, designed to disguise what was going on behind the scenes.

He knew how Bordeaux handled himself in a court of law. There was nothing genial about it, and it made Jack much more attentive to the point.

"What would you advise, then?"

"If you do your job, and the Tigress lives up to her reputation, then you'll confront her tonight. When that happens, it is incumbent on you to remember that this is _not_ a game. You're a gentleman at heart and your instincts are towards chivalry and fair play, but there is no 'fair play' when you are protecting a client—an innocent girl," he added, a reminder towards those chivalrous instincts he'd mentioned. "The Tigress is nothing more or less than a dangerous criminal. Treat her as such _at all times_."

~X X X~

It was not long past the supper hour, the cathedral clock having just chimed nine, when Jack arrived at Miss Marcillac's address. The townhouse was one of several in a row, tall, narrow buildings surrounded by small garden-yards and wrought-iron fences that slouched one after another along a winding road. A hundred years ago the street had been a fashionable outgrowth of an expanding bourgeois class, but now it was left to their poorer relations as the winds of fashion had blown the _nouveau riche_ back across the river to entrench themselves side-by-side with their titled brethren.

He was reminded, now, that the girl's uncle was on her _maternal_ side.

The stone steps to the front door had a slight dip in their center from the passage of many feet, and the lion-headed door-knocker was green with verdigris. The butler answered Jack's knock and admitted him into the narrow foyer. Jack surrendered his hat, gloves, and greatcoat but retained his stick as well as the sturdy wooden case he carried in his left hand. Miss Marcillac was waiting for him in a parlor where the furnishings were fine but the upholstery and wallpaper faded.

 _No wonder the uncle insists on having the necklace ready at hand_ , he thought. With the Marcillac fortune itself descending to the girl, the chance to use it even obliquely to finance a deal would be irresistible to the man who owned this home. Everything here spoke of genteel poverty or of miserliness.

"Mr. Lyeth, you're here!" the girl greeted him, springing up from her perch on a settee at his entrance. "I…I was beginning to worry."

"I did not want to force myself upon your company, or barge in as if I was demanding to be fed. Though some court cases do make it hard to distinguish an advocate from a performing jester."

She chuckled at that sally and sat back down, gesturing for him to do the same. He complied, settling into a chair facing her.

"I am just so relieved now that you're here," she said. "I think that the waiting, the anticipation, may be worse than the event itself."

Jack smiled.

"I certainly hope that will be the case."

"The fact that you _are_ here, that I can place this matter into the hands of someone I can trust…it makes all of the difference. I feel better now than I have been since the moment I first arrived here."

Her reaction was flattering, but Jack couldn't help but think back to his conversation with Bordeaux. His superior's warning was correct: Jack could not allow himself to become distracted, and while that had been meant in connection with the Tigress's games, it applied as much to his reaction to Miss Marcillac herself.

"I believe we should take this time before midnight to consider our plans for defense. Tell me, does your uncle have a safe or other secure location to put the necklace?"

"I do not know. I've never been here before, you see."

"The butler would likely know, but even then I doubt he would have the key or combination. Though if the Tigress has planned in advance as well as she seems _she_ might well have it, so it might be better to avoid such things anyway." He rose to his feet. "Perhaps you could show me the main rooms? That way we can pick the place best suited for defense."

Ideally, he would prefer a room with only a single point of entry, but those would be few and far between in any well-built house unless he wanted to barricade himself in the kitchen pantry or some other corner where he would have no room to maneuver or react. He didn't want to put himself into that kind of situation, not against an opponent who had doubtless thoroughly "cased" the house and had any number of tricks up her sleeve.

Miss Marcillac escorted him from room to room through the townhouse, and with every chamber Jack became more and more aware of how inappropriate a setting this was for the delicate, forlorn girl. Though the faded glory of the hallways and connecting rooms seemed to suit, the rooms themselves with their garish, tasteless furnishings as hideous as the diamonds were a museum-exhibit or sermon's prop on the subject of crass avarice.

 _Or perhaps it is Miss Marcillac herself who is like the necklace: a precious gem in a cheap setting wholly unworthy of her._

After half an hour, Jack had made up his mind.

"Here," he said, looking along the length of the second-floor study. "I think this will be the place." The room was long and narrow, with dark paneling and mahogany furniture that made it seem almost oppressive, particularly by lamplight. He doubted it had been meant for its current purpose, but the rows of shelves on its south wall, the writing desk by the windows, and the heavy chairs before the hearth were unmistakable. The desk faced away from the windows and into the room, suggesting that Miss Marcillac's uncle employed the study as a business office on some occasions.

"Why is that?" she wondered.

"The only ways into this room are the one door behind us and the windows there opposite." Both windows and door were set into the short sides of the room. "If I lock and bar the door behind me, the Tigress can only enter by those windows without the application of massive force, which is hardly her known style. If she breaks into the house at any other point besides this room, it won't help her."

"I see! You'll be turning the room itself into a sort of safe!" She glanced around herself and added. "It does feel something like that, so close and tight."

Jack nodded. The furnishings, the low ceiling, they all fed into the impression of being locked into a strong-box, even despite the room's size. He was glad that he was not a person that found tight, confining spaces to be uncomfortable or else this place would play on his fears.

"Less of that, I think, and more of a shooting-gallery."

"Eh?"

"With the lamps doused, this room should look like any other unoccupied chamber from outside the house. I shall be waiting here with a dark-lantern lit and hooded. If the Tigress attempts to enter by one of the windows, I can lift the shutter at once, turn it on her, and have her perfectly sighted for this."

He raised the sturdy case he'd brought with him and smiled.

"What is that, Mr. Lyeth?"

He wanted to look into her puzzled, slightly apprehensive gaze and tell her to call him Jack, but firmly quashed the thought. She was relying on him for protection. Perhaps in the morning, when the threat had passed…but not now. Not while she needed his focus to be on her necklace and the thief.

Rather than answer the question in words, he set the case on an occasional table. When he snapped open the catches, it echoed like tiny cracks of thunder in the room, and he lifted the lid to reveal an exquisitely ornamented light crossbow, with a number of bolts flanking it. Miss Marcillac's eyes widened at the sight.

"You are serious about this, aren't you?" Her voice was a little breathless, with hints of something like fear.

 _For me?_ Jack thought, hope rising, but realized almost at once that it was more likely to be of the threat of violence itself.

Especially given that she was still recovering from the death of her father not two weeks past.

"I am sorry to frighten you," he tried to be gentle, but without lying. "This business is, however, indeed serious, and your own fears when you came to us were wise. Tonight when you retire I want you to lock yourself in with your maid. Be sure of your safety, and know that even though we will be in separate rooms, we will see this through together."

She swallowed once, then bobbed her head up and down twice, the lamplight glinting like tiny sparks in her spectacles.

"I…I will. It…I just feel so helpless, not being able to take part in my own defense." She clutched her hands together. "I wish that I was stronger, that I could be of some use."

Jack reached out, covering her folded hands with his own and squeezing lightly.

"Have no fear, Miss Marcillac. You will find your own strength in time, I am sure, and be able to offer your protection to others in the future, be it in whatever form."

She smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Jack—Mr. Lyeth," she corrected herself hurriedly, and his heart skipped a beat. Perhaps she was only looking to him as a source of confidence and safety, and yet he could not keep himself from hoping that she, too, felt something more.

Morning could not come soon enough, he thought. Though he could not allow himself to look too far ahead, lest he fail in the task that lay before him.

With regret, he let her hands drop.

"I should start preparing," he told her, letting so much go unsaid. Miss Marcillac, it seemed, recognized the need as well, for she went along with him.

"All right. Should I have the cook send something up for you? Some coffee, perhaps?"

"Thank you very much. It will be a long night, and a restorative may well be what I need."

She beamed, if shyly, at the thought she could help in some small way.

"I shall have it sent up at half past eleven, then, for your vigil. Thank you again so much, Mr. Lyeth."

"On the contrary, the honor is mine."

Regretfully, she left, closing the door behind her. Jack took the crossbow from its case and strung it, testing the mechanism. The bow was not his only weapon, of course; his walking-stick was not only capped and shod with metal but filled with lead, making it a sturdy striking weapon nearly as potent as a soldier's mace. Hopefully, they would be enough to deal with a single thief.

Recognizing that agility would most likely be his enemy's best weapon, he took steps to hamper this, pushing the desk up below one window and one of the heavy chairs below the other. With luck, these would prevent a smooth entry by the Tigress, forcing her to be silhouetted against what light there was outside. Other furnishings he pushed back against the walls, where they would not provide cover for the thief or obstacles he, likely the clumsier fighter if it came to hand-to-hand, would not trip over.

The alterations he'd made did not escape the attention of the woman who brought the coffee. Her eyebrows rose, taking in the scene, but she made no comment as she handed the tray to Jack. He set the tray down, then locked the door behind the departing woman and pocketed the key.

Knowing the vigil to come, he lifted the steaming urn and poured himself a cup of coffee. In the empty room, his senses already acute for any hint of the Tigress, the rich scent filled his nostrils temptingly. He lifted the cup to drink, then suddenly stopped with it almost at his lips, the movement sharp enough that several drops of liquid sloshed over the edge.

It was a given that the Tigress had considerable information about the household. The timing of her message proved it. They had already considered the most obvious possibility: that she had bribed or otherwise suborned one of the servants to get information. And if that could happen once, then why not twice?

What would be simpler than to empty a phial of some alchemist's mix into the coffee urn? Something to make him sleepy and vulnerable, unable to do his duty. What would all his preparations matter then?

With regret, he set the cup back on the tray. He would have to rely only upon his own will to keep his wits about him.

Thinking about the coffee and his own vulnerability made Jack realize that he had made a second error in keeping the jewel case on his person. Yes, the Tigress would have to overcome him to reach it, but that was true no matter what so long as it was in the room. Better to put it someplace more secure to give her an extra obstacle.

The first thing he considered was to lock it up somewhere, but that was impossible: the room contained no safe and even if a desk drawer could be locked he had no keys.

A hiding-place might be a better idea, anyway. An experienced thief would no doubt immediately consider lock-boxes and secured drawers to be prime targets, the first places to look. Anything that made her work for her prize was something else to make her overcome. Even simple delay could thwart her, the sounds of a search rouse the household so that the Watch could be summoned as a last resort, _something_.

Finding a hiding spot was easier said than done, though. Eventually, Jack settled on one of the bookcases as the best option. He pulled out several volumes, put the jewel-case in flat to the back of the shelf, and replaced the books. Realizing at once that this made them stick out unnaturally from the others around them, he then pulled out the other books on the shelf so that their spines were all flush with one another, then made doubly sure by adjusting those on the other shelves as well. Satisfied that no more could be done by way of disguise, he settled in to wait.

It was a long vigil, all alone in the dark room, unable to make a noise lest he give the trap away. Many men would have succumbed to the inaction and the late hour, but Jack had the opposite reaction. His nerves were keyed to such a fever pitch that the minutes crept by like hours, and his hyper-alert senses made him twitch at every night noise, each creak and groan of the old house settling. Droplets of perspiration, born of tension and nothing else, crept down the back of his neck in a maddening tickle.

One hour painfully crept by, then two, then a third. Jack could hear a clock chiming the hour somewhere in the recesses of the house, soon echoed from outside by the heavy bell of the cathedral. He was beginning to feel tired, regretting now the need to pass up the coffee. The waiting was taking its toll, the darkness and silence, and his very excitement had only made things worse by sapping his energy all the faster. His eyelids started to droop, and he found his mind wandering afield, almost randomly, as it would in the last few minutes before sleep.

Then, suddenly, all of his faculties were brought to bear at once, his attention riveted by a soft scraping noise. He stared across at the windows and saw a figure silhouetted against the left-hand one, working something between the frame and the casement. Jack reached for his crossbow, right hand clenched tightly around the stock, knuckles doubtless turning white had there been light to see them by.

With a quiet _snick!_ the latch fell free, and the casement swung open. The intruder slipped in smoothly, perched on the desk without any trouble in finding her footing, and swung the casement shut behind her, doubtless so that no chance passerby would see it standing open. The Tigress was a professional; she omitted nothing. She turned to step down from the desk.

"Halt, or I shall fire!"

Jack snapped the catch of the dark-lantern fully open, pinning the burglar in its beam. At once he swung his left hand up to cradle the bow, bracing the stock against his shoulder for shooting. He got a glimpse of a face covered in a full mask colored a dull orange striped with black diagonal streaks, and of long, dark hair. Her clothing was a deep gray, doubtless for hiding in the shadows, but what caught his eye was the blade in her hand with which she'd forced the window-latch, a flat throwing knife with its blade soot-blackened.

For an instant she froze, stunned by the blinding beam and Jack's cry, but then her hand began to raise. Perhaps she thought that as the expert, she would be more comfortable with violence. Her sex, too, might make a certain kind of man hesitate.

Jack did not. Primed by Bordeaux, and by his own fears for Miss Marcillac, he had steeled himself for this moment, and squeezed the trigger. The twang of the wound-metal bowstring sang in his ears, and he felt the thudding of the recoil against his shoulder.

The woman gave a squeal of pain, and clutched at her shoulder where the bolt jutted. Jack dropped the crossbow and snatched up his cane while the thief reeled back, her hips crashing into the edge of the desk.

"Stop right there!" he bellowed, but the woman showed no more sign of listening to him now than she had the first time. Like a wounded animal, the Tigress scrambled for safety, pushing herself up onto the desk. Jack charged across the room, lifting the cane to strike, but he had not gotten half the distance before the woman hurled herself through the casement, glass exploding in a shower as the delicate framework between the mullioned panes gave way under her body weight.

The drop to the ground was far enough that the thief might have injured herself, but when Jack reached the window and looked down, he saw the flicker of movement in the dark, the hint of a form racing around the back corner of the house.

His blood up, Jack was about to hurl himself in full pursuit, setting up the hue and cry after her. The Tigress was hurt by his archery, probably also by the smash through the glass and the uncontrolled drop, and he felt sure that under the circumstances he could run her down, bring her to justice. But then at the last minute he stopped himself.

His duty was not to catch a thief. He was not a member of the Watch. His job was to protect the Marcillac diamonds on behalf of his client. For all he knew, the Tigress might have stopped just around the corner of the house, ready to lash out at a pursuer like the wounded animal he'd called her. In any case, she would not return that night. There was regret in his sigh as he turned away from the broken casement, but also satisfaction.

It was not long after—a minute or two at most—that the rush of feet came from outside the door, then loud knocking and more than one raised voice calling his name. Among the voices was Miss Marcillac's, so Jack unlocked the door at once, throwing it open to reveal the girl and the servants alike, gathered in a knot outside.

"We heard you shouting, and the breaking glass," Miss Marcillac explained, "and rushed to see if you were all right."

She made a very fetching picture in her white dressing-gown. She'd obviously thrown it on over her night-rail in haste, for she was holding it clasped shut at the throat with one hand. Her blonde hair tumbled down loose over her shoulders.

"Was it the Tigress?" the butler burst out once his mistress had stopped talking.

"Did she get the necklace?" echoed the maid.

It was the girl's question that warmed Jack's heart, though.

"Were you harmed, Mr. Lyeth? Do you need any help?"

He held up his hands.

"I am unhurt, Miss Marcillac, although were I not you should still have remained safe in your own room."

"I…I'm sorry. It's just that I was so worried by all the noise."

"Well, the Tigress has made her attempt. She fled into the night, but without her prize. The only thing she took from this house was a crossbow bolt in her shoulder."

Miss Marcillac's eyes widened.

"Why, then, surely she will not be back tonight, with such an injury."

"I hope not. Nonetheless, I shall continue to remain on guard until tomorrow, just on the chance she should have associates."

She nodded, accepting his logic.

"Very well; in that case the rest of us should return to our beds. I pray that the rest of the night shall pass uneventfully for you, Mr. Lyeth."

She and the servants left him, the soft buzz of their discussion of the break-in receding with them. Jack re-locked the door and fitted a fresh bolt to the crossbow, before resuming his vigil. It was hard for him to keep up the same fever pitch of attention, now that the thief had come and gone, and he had to fight even harder against the lure of sleep, as much because of the feeling that his work was done as from bodily exhaustion. But the night passed without further event, hour after hour fading until the first faint rays of dawn began to creep through the broken window.

It was not long after that, as the sounds of the waking city outside began to echo up, that there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Lyeth, it's Miss Marcillac. My uncle has arrived."

His spirits were lifted at once, fresh excitement at the successful conclusion of his duty. Jack retrieved the necklace from its hiding place, then opened the door to reveal his client already prepared for the day in a black traveling-dress and pelisse. Apparently the uncle's early arrival had been expected.

"Then let us go greet him. Doubtless after traveling in an ill-sprung carriage all night he will be eager to have done with the business."

She flashed him a quick smile.

"Indeed, Mr. Lyeth, you have the right of it."

Her spirits were obviously high this morning; despite her circumstances the success of the previous night—the lifting of the cloud of fear—had brought out some of the sparkling girl beneath. Jack could not help but take pride in how he'd lifted some of that dreadful weight from her shoulders.

They descended together to the foyer, where the lady's-maid waited with a small trunk.

"You'll meet us at the coaching-inn, Rose. You understand your instructions?" Miss Marcillac said.

"Yes, miss. I'll secure places on the Flying Drake for us, so that when your uncle brings you to the inn all will be prepared for us to return to the country."

"You are not staying the night in the city?" Jack asked.

She shook her head.

"Not now. Perhaps in a few months, or a year. When I am better fit to enjoy the lights and gaiety of society. You understand, I am sure."

"Yes, of course," Jack replied, abashed. She was fresh in mourning for her father, after all.

"I…I hope it is not too much to ask, that we may see each other again, when that time comes?"

The maid opened the door for her, and they descended towards the street where a brougham waited for them, its door open.

"It's about time, gel!" a voice croaked from its shadowy interior. "Bründlmayer won't wait for me all morning!"

"Yes, Uncle."

Jack extended the jewel-case to her, and she took it, then impulsively reached out and took his hand between her gloved fingers.

"Thank you, Mr. Lyeth. Thank you so much, for everything you have done."

"It…" He fumbled for words. "It was both my honor and my pleasure." They shared one last, long look, the morning light sparkling where reflected in her spectacles, and then at last she let him go, turned, and descended the front steps to the street. She climbed up into the brougham, pausing only to take one last look back over her shoulder before she ducked her head and slipped into the carriage, all but vanishing into the darkness within. The driver reached back from his seat, pushed the door shut, then gave his reins a flick and set the brougham in motion.

Jack did not move or stop watching until it turned a corner at the far end of the street.

~X X X~

"I hope the poor boy's not too terribly disappointed when he meets the real Louise Marcillac."

"Boy? Vasco, Lyeth is probably three or four years older than I am."

The crow perched on the opposite seat ruffled his feathers with a kind of shake. The pale green glow of his eyes, gleaming in the shadowy interior of the brougham, marked him as what he was, a corbie—a fae crow, a magician's familiar.

The fact that he opened his beak and talked was a good hint as well.

"There's a difference between growing old and growing wise, and that boy is more chick than crow. What's the idiom you use? An 'unlicked cub,' isn't that what they say?"

Margarita Surprise nodded.

"I think so. I don't go out a lot in society."

She plucked the tinted spectacles from her face, blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of light, and settled her usual pince-nez on her nose.

"I suppose that you're right, though. I'm still amazed that men of law would be so trusting. Shouldn't they know the faces of their own clients, not have their country associates handle all of their out-of-town business? One forged letter from Miss Marcillac and one from the local lawyer were all it took, and stealing blank stationery and handwriting samples was easy enough."

"Not every forger has magical help, though."

"True, but I'd think someone like the real Tigress could just as easily hire out someone to do the work."

She pulled off the blonde wig, letting her own short reddish-brown hair fall down to frame her face. She combed her fingers through it, restoring some semblance of order.

"She wouldn't have a unicorn's Holy Barrier to protect her from any serious injury when shot, though, or elves to patch up her shoulder so there's be no sign of even a superficial wound later."

"True. It's a lot harder to fail convincingly to steal something than you'd think."

"Maybe Miss Marcillac is the one I should feel sorry for. Imagine how disappointed _she'll_ be to learn that her men of law handed her most priceless heirloom over to an impostor."

Margarita shrugged.

"It had to be done. I couldn't leave the Seven Eyes of Amaimon just sitting around in a bank vault."

The man who'd called himself Marcillac had once been a sorcerer in service to the Archmage Calvaros. After the Archmage's defeat, he had fled, taken on a new name, and used his arts to build himself a life of wealth and luxury. By feigning a background among the _nouveau riche_ , his lack of a past raised no suspicion among his social set, and the string of mishaps and incidents that befell his competitors seemed no more than the ordinary cutthroat cruelty of the ruthless self-made man.

Killing him, even though his sorcery was rusty and more used to indulging his luxuries and preying on helpless victims instead of fighting magicians, had not been easy. Making it seem like an accident had taken considerable effort, and the fact that she couldn't keep from feeling pride in her work despite what that work was made her feel a little ashamed.

"Now that you have them in hand, do you think you can safely unbind their magic?"

"I'm not sure. It'll take some time to study. If not, I'll have to sent the necklace to Professor Gammel."

She wasn't sure what she'd do with the common diamonds Marcillac had used to disguise the Seven Eyes in the necklace. Probably she'd just give them away randomly; removed from their setting they couldn't be traced to the Marcillac diamonds. Part of her wanted to return them to the family, but she squashed that thought for two reasons: the wealth they represented was the product of Marcillac's numerous crimes, and more pragmatically returning the stones would be a clear message she'd taken the necklace for reasons other than monetary value. She supposed the urge was just a leftover fragment of imagining herself in her role as Louise.

"Still, I'm impressed that it all went so smoothly."

Margarita smirked.

"Well, we could never have gotten the necklace out of the bank vault ourselves without the use of force. They use magical wards as well as human guards and the actual, physical locks, so breaking in would have immediately announced that a magician was involved. This way, they kindly went and got it out for me. It may be weeks or even months before anyone learns that the diamonds were actually stolen, and when it is discovered, they'll all assume that the Tigress took them for their monetary worth. The Watch will be hunting the wrong suspect, they'll chase after fences and collectors; even the woman I hired to act as my maid doesn't know I'm a magician, just a thief—and if she's competent, she'll be long out of sight. The broadsheets will write it up as just another of the Tigress's schemes. I wonder if, whoever she is, she'll be upset with me for borrowing her name."

"She ought to thank you for increasing her reputation," Vasco said. "After all, you did keep the promise you made for her. It's still the morning of the fifteenth, and the Marcillac diamonds are there in your hand."


End file.
